


Whenever I Fall at Your Feet

by Kizzywiggle



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), bagginshield - Fandom
Genre: Comfort, Feet, Fluff, Fluffy feet, I got a bit carried away Tolkeining the language, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 09:31:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8396515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kizzywiggle/pseuds/Kizzywiggle
Summary: How to relax a cranky hobbit.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Bee wanted Bagginshield Fluff. My brain immediately went hobbits+fluff=HOBBIT FEET, and so we ended up with...foot pampering.
> 
> I'm so, SO sorry, ghost of Mr Tolkien. Really sorry.

Bilbo thumped through the shiny, round door of his hobbit-hole underhill, dumped his satchel (overflowing with pens, paper, tobacco, pipes, a snack, a small flagon of beer, an extra snack and three pocket handkerchiefs) onto the floor, slammed the door behind him, and tried very, very hard not to use any of the colourful language which he'd learned during his travels with the dwarves (although the worst of it had come from Gandalf).

On days like today, he was tempted to curse most vilely but he refrained: hobbits didn't curse. Even when the...the _jolly_ Sackville-Bagginses seemed to be everywhere he turned, noses and fingers in his business, spreading rumours and outright lies about his 'little time away’... Bilbo propped his hands on his hips and bounced on his toes a couple of times, humming under his breath before taking a deep breath and letting it out in a whoosh. “What's done is done, Bilbo,” he told himself in a mock-cheery voice. “Move on. Now...tea?”

He bustled through to the kitchen and went to put the kettle over the fire, but it was already boiling merrily away. His brow crinkled in bafflement, and he turned to see - “Thorin!”

The dwarf smiled, although it was more a warming of his eyes and a softening of the harsh lines of his face than the beaming smile Bilbo bestowed on him in return. Thorin inclined his head. “Burglar,” he rumbled. “I thought I'd pay you a visit. I hope you don't mind my making myself at home?” He nodded towards the singing kettle.

“Certainly not!” exclaimed Bilbo with genuine joy. “You are always most welcome in my home, Thorin, most welcome indeed!” 

He made to go towards the pantry, but Thorin stopped him with a word. Bilbo turned and saw that the dwarf had stood, looming darkly in the warm golden glow of the fire, and was moving around the kitchen table. He placed his large, strong hands upon Bilbo's shoulders (Bilbo noting absently that those same hands were warm through his weskit and shirt) and looked down into Bilbo's wide, questioning eyes. “Go through to the sitting room. Sit in your easy chair. Wait.” Thorin ordered with the confidence of a born leader.

Bilbo obeyed promptly, his happiness at seeing Thorin warring in his breast with the confusion at Thorin’s somewhat abrupt attitude. He settled in his chair and tipped his head back into the soft cushion with a sigh, his eyes closing as though weighted. After such a blasted busy day, it was a simple pleasure to sit still for even a moment. Bilbo relaxed with a will. Splashing and deep humming filtered through from his kitchen, and when he heard footsteps he opened his eyes to see Thorin ducking through the doorway, a towel over his shoulder and a basin of steaming water between his hands. “What-?” said Bilbo, intelligently. 

Thorin knelt before him, placing the basin on the floor. The scent of thyme and lavender and rosemary wafted up from the crushed herbs floating on the water’s rippled surface. Thorin glanced up at Bilbo wickedly. “Feet,” he demanded.

Dumbly, Bilbo lifted his feet. Thorin cupped Bilbo’s heels gently and rubbed calloused thumbs up the outside of Bilbo's ankles, over the bony protrusions there in tiny, soft circles, ruffling the soft fluff of the hobbit's luxuriant foot-hair. Bilbo bit his lip on an un-masculine whimper of pleasure as Thorin tugged gently on his calves to lower Bilbo’s feet into the basin. Warmth enveloped Bilbo's feet and he moaned softly as the hot water and Thorin's hands worked in seductive harmony to erase the tension in his poor tired feet.

“I know that better than anything, better than a good pipe, or a hot pork pie, or fried eggs for your third breakfast...better even than adventure and song is foot care to a hobbit,” rumbled Thorin. “These strong, sturdy feet, which crossed Middle Earth in my name; these nimble, clever feet which led you to the Arkenstone under Smaug’s very snout; these little, lovely, hairy feet deserve pampering every once in a while.”

“Mmmmm…” agreed Bilbo. 

Thorin's fingers worked magic in concert with the water, gently rubbing Bilbo's feet as he continued to speak praise of 'his’ burglar in a deep, sing-song voice. The motion of his hands and the gentle tone combined to send Bilbo to an almost-magical place in his head, full of comfort and pleasure. He moaned and stretched like a cat, toes splaying in the water as he arched his back like a cat, contented before a fire. 

Thorin lifted Bilbo's feet from the water one at a time and gently dried them before setting them in his lap. He trimmed the nails and buffed them 'til they shone; gently massaged pure tallow into the hard soles; finally he took up a soft-bristled brush and patiently groomed Bilbo's hairy feet until he felt like himself: cheerful and relaxed once more.

Bilbo smiled down at Thorin. “I cannot imagine a greater pleasure, nor more transcendent pleasure that this,” he said humbly. “You! Thorin, son of Thrain, mightiest dwarf on life, kneeling at _my_ feet! Imagine!”

“Ah, but,” answered Thorin with a deep chuckle, “I have not yet finished… _taking care of you_ …” Significance coloured his tone and he added a growl. “To the bedroom with you now, hobbit!” he added, and moved aside the basin so Bilbo could stand and scamper for the bedroom. “I believe it's _your_ turn to be on your knees!” he called after his burglar.

“Happily, O My King!” Bilbo called back, shucking clothes as he ran. “And, perchance, your burglar might steal _your_ very breath in none too short a while!”


End file.
